


Flying

by ShadowsintheFire



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, M/M, mostly Yuri angsting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 00:06:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8229400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowsintheFire/pseuds/ShadowsintheFire
Summary: For deep within those unfathomable eyes, held a promise as solemn as any marriage vow. I will train you, they said. I have seen your potential. Trust me. For I will make you a champion.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a purely self-indulgent fic. I just couldn't stop my feelings ;__;  
> How is it possible that it's only been one episode and I ship them so hard already.

Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was serendipity or chance or whatever someone more eloquent than him would like to call it. But for Yuri – it was none of those. For Yuri – short, round Yuri who had fallen in love with the glittering, flawless expense of ice that fell away from his rounded eyes the very first time he had stepped into the ring – it was _destiny._

****

He could feel it the moment he stepped onto the ice. It glimmered, crystalline in its appearance and a part of him fell in love all over again as though it were the first time he had laced up his skates and took his first, wobbling steps onto the slippery surface. He could feel it beckoning to him, calling him, cajoling him playfully to _come, come, come and_ fly.

He bowed to the judges, to the crowd. The music soared – a rhythm, a melody he knew by heart. One he had spent hours upon hours perfecting. The sweat, the tears he had shed, and the bruises he had collected in the months before this very competition. He knew it, he was going to ace this because he finally had his chance to compete against _Victor_. His idol and his rival both, the person whose image had carried him through both the happiest and darkest times of his life.

Yuri stepped forward, hands raised. He could feel the sudden hush of the crowd, hundreds of people holding their breaths, the pressure weighing upon his shoulders – the expectations of his mother, his friends, the people back home cheering for him, _Vicchan-_

He faltered.

An axel ended in a stagger, a spin with a wobble. And another. And another. He could feel the tears stinging his eyes, but he gritted his teeth, tipped his chin and held firm. Not now, not now, there would be time after to break down, to mourn. _Not now._

_****_

He didn’t want to think about _him_. How he finally had the chance to skate against his idol, and screwed up so royally that he wasn’t even in the competition. Last place. And the only time Victor had really spoken to him was when they were readying themselves to leave. _“Do you want a commemorative photo?”_

Yuri had been so disappointed, so furious with himself that he couldn’t even meet the man’s eyes. He was _ashamed_. He had wanted to bring his best game, to show Victor he was on par with him. Tell him after how much the man had inspired him, how much he had shaped his entire skating career.

Instead, he had showed Victor his worst. The cool blonde youth beside the Russian had said it all when they had met in the bathroom. And even now, the hooded male hadn’t deigned to look at him. As if he wasn’t worth his time.

(But he saw the way the other Yuri had called Victor away from speaking to him, moving just half a step closer when Yuri turned to look. Proprietary. And something in his stomach had withered and died at the sight.)

Closing his eyes, he turned away. The imprint of the taller man’s surprised features razed upon the backs of his eyelids like they had been scraped there. Yuri forced himself to walk away, not to look back. Each step echoing hollowly in his ears, a facsimile of what _could_ have been the brightest, happiest moment of his life sheared away as easily as his skates cut through polished ice.

****

He was back at his house, home after years abroad. The gushing of his fans still made him embarrassed – he had _fans? –_ but thankfully, _Sensei_ was almost always there to make sure he behaved properly. Berating him to shake their hands and greet them, listen to their fawning with the constant admonition that _Victor is always so polite to his fans_.

And he couldn’t _not_ listen. For years and years and years, he had emulated Victor. Followed his routines, copied them and etched them upon his mind and heart, with the unspoken wish that – someday, _someday…_

****

And then everything spun out of control. The routine he had perfected, the video finding its way onto the internet, going viral (how in the world did that even happen?). Missed calls and texts pouring their way into his inbox the moment he switched on his phone in the morning. It had made him long for something sugary sweet to sink his teeth into – chocolate crepe? – to distract him from his embarrassment.

 _Everyone_ was watching it. _Everyone_ was talking about it.

(But he didn’t dare think that Victor was too.)

****

Victor was here. His mind was spinning, heart awhirl, and his limbs weren’t any better coordinated. No matter how graceful he could be on skates, on the ice – Yuri had always been such a klutz on solid ground. Come to think of it, perhaps that was why ice skating had captured him so quickly.

It had made him feel _free_ , in a way he never had on land with his small, chubby body that so easily gained weight.

And he had never felt more aware of every single ounce he had gained – than when he was standing dumbstruck at the doorway of one of the onsen that his family owned. In his old, comfortable clothes, painfully aware of how dull and unkempt he must have looked in his baggy clothes and square-rimmed glasses all fogged up by the steam.

It was _Victor_. Victor was here. In his family’s onsen. How? Why?

- _Naked, his mind supplied helpfully._

And then the Russian rose from the milky pool, like a greek god rising from the depths of the ocean – oh, he could see much, much, _much_ more this way. See _everything_ the glittering costumes had tried to hide. The flawless expanse of his body, the unblemished skin, each line and hard definition from hours and hours of training in the gym, in the rink. The body of a _champion_.

Yuri could see more than that. Unbidden, his eyes dipped lower, tracing down well-defined pectorals and abs, and then down even more until his eyes lingered at the junction where skin met water. Dimly, he could hear a voice. Strong and undeniably masculine, words beautifully accented with the flavour of his home country. So entranced was he at the feast for his eyes that lay before him – _every fantasy since he was a boy come true –_ that he scarcely heard the words that were spoken.

If he had looked up, he would probably have seen Victor in all his showmanship glory. Extending an imperious hand as though he were in the middle of a recital and performing to a crowd of thousands, instead of one measly person. But one sentence caught his attention.

_“I’ll make you win the Grand Prix Final.”_

The world stopped. Everything stopped. The only sound was the frantic thudding on his heart, and the blood rushing hotly in his ears.

EHHH??

His heart and mind both simultaneously rebelled, scoffing immediately at the sheer ridiculousness of the statement his mind had somehow managed to come up with. It was a beautiful dream to be sure – his idol flying all the way from Russia to see him, and for some unfathomable reason, wanted to _coach him._ It couldn’t be real. It was too easy, too perfect.

And God knew things never did come easy for Yuri.

He could feel the heat welling up beneath the collar of his long coat. It was a joke, wasn’t it? The joke of the century. With a wry twist of his lips, a faded, bitten-off laugh ready at the corners of his mouth – he lifted shadowed eyes to meet the Russian’s.

He met pools of cerulean blue. Deep as the icebergs drifting aimlessly in the ocean, dark as ships silently crossing paths at night, light as sunbeams passing through crystal ice. They were captivating.

And Yuri was caught. He couldn’t look away.

For deep within those unfathomable eyes, held a promise as solemn as any marriage vow. _I will train you,_ they said. _I have seen your potential. Trust me. For I will make you a champion._

And then the oath than that that lay even deeper still. So unwavering in its conviction that it shook Yuri to the depths of his being, wanting to shrink away from everything it encompassed, everything he could see in that unflinching gaze.

_I believe in you._

_You and me, Yuri - together, we'll take the world by storm._   



End file.
